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POETIC OEMS 



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HENRY HORATIO McCRAY 

WITH INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR. 






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INTRODUCTION. 



Most of the selections of this book are intended to instruct. 
They were not written because the writer had a few extra 
moments to spend in some wajr, but for the purpose of bene- 
fiting some one, or all of those who might read them. 

The writer would have you understand that no short time 
and no little degree of patience were spent in the preparation 
of this book, and that it is dedicated to all whose ambitions 
are lofty and whose aim and purposes are pure and noble. 

A pure heart is God's own room — 

Keep it. 
Good deeds are the broom — 

Sweep it. 



INDEX TO CONTENTS. 



'Tis Not Cloth, but Lives 5 

The Traveler '6 

What Will the Negro Ever Be? 9 

Be True 12 

The Farmer's Family 12 

The Stranger's Death . 15 

Demons of the Night 17 

That Negro Ball 19 

The Lost Ship 22 

A Talk With Duty 26 

OurSunland 28 

You're a Slave 30 

Get Charity 32 

True Beauty 33 

Music 34 

That Blood Divine 36 

Disloyalty 37 

Man 38 

Our World 42 

Joy 44 

Day Is Dying 44 

Out on Life's Sea 45 

What the Rill Says 46 

The Joy of Home 48 

You Answered Him: "I Will." 49 

"Mind, Now, Joe." 50 



'TIS NOT CLOTH, BUT LIVES. 

'Tis not cloth we're weaving, 

But 'tis lives. 
And the while we're weaving 
Let our thoughts be not deceiving, 
And our words be not bereaving; 
For when earthly pleasures leaving, 
Keep us in a state of grieving, 
We should know 'tis not cloth we're weaving, 

But 'tis lives. 

There's a duty we should perform 

If we'd rise. 
And there'll be happy thoughts awaking, 
If we'll always be forsaking 
What to noble minds seem quaking; 
For when wrong thoughts be upheaving. 
And our souls seem unbelieving. 
We know 'tis not cloth we're weaving, 

But 'tis lives. 

There's a way to do always good 

If we'd strive. 
We should keep our tongues from lies, 
And their slaves we should despise. 
For they'll you of good things deprive; 
For when truth behind we're leaving. 
And we go on unbelieving. 
We should think 'tis not cloth we're weaving. 

But 'tis lives. 

The humblest one may rise 
If he'll strive. 



POETIC GEMS. 



Upon life's field of battle 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle. 
Be a hero, if you can, 
And have good deeds at your command; 
Now the while you're free air breathing, 
Say,"'4is not cloth we're weaving, 
But 'tis lives." 

If we labor here with patience, 

We derive 
Something noble and something good, 
That if off aside we'd stood, 
And had not toiled just as we should, 
We would never have received — 
The things that in this life we need: 
For 'tis not cloth we're weaving, 

But 'tis lives. 



THE TRAVELER. 

The journey which he has begun 

Seems lonely to the weary one. 

But if we'll stop and think awhile. 

We'll see that God's travelers will not at all times smile. 

He's traveled, yea, these several years. 
Sometimes in sorrows and in tears; 
Sometimes through scenes of deep distress 
Through some solitary wilderness. 

He even falters on the way; 
He rests but never means to stay; 
He's off again, renewed in hope 
That he will ne'er in darkness grope. 



POETIC GEMS. 



He goes a little way with cheer, 
And then some grief is brought to bear; 
He stops again upon the way; 
He stops but never means to stay. 

He takes new courage; starts again; 
He tries his broken gait to mend. 
'Tis true he travels faster now, 
Because he has taken another vow. 

He meets at last a numberless host 
That the toilsome journey has divorced. 
They question him on points illf ame, 
And want to know from whence he came. 

He tells them that he's from a place 
Where all true virtues are defaced; 
And everything that seemeth true 
For its inmates will never do. 

He tells them he has lived there long; 
But the hymns they sang were not his songs; 
And their cursed dealing with honest men 
He'd not patronize, but condemn. 

The numberless host with which he met, 
Who would of him true instructions get. 
Said, "Friend we've traveled on your way. 
But the road gets steeper day by day." 

"And, more than that, we must confess 
That the way we're going is much the best. 
You may go on, but we'll tell you true 
The way you go is too hard for you." 



POETIC GEMS. 



He tries his energy to repair 

To keep his soul from sad despair. 

He says, ^'That easier way it might do you, 

But for me, I think, it will never do." 

He's off again, and on he goes 
And thinks of other people's woes. 
Again he's reminded of what they said 
About the road just up ahead. 

The sun has set behind the hills. 
And he is on his journey still. 
The way seems dark before his eyes. 
And on God his spirit cries. 

Suddenly, as with lightning speed, 
A light is summoned to his need; 
And comfort stares him in the face 
As a full proof of God's free grace. 

The night is long. He stops to rest. 
A thousand thoughts are in his breast; 
He knows not what dread dangers nest 
In that lonely wilderness. 

The morning comes; he's up and starts 
The rest of his journey with better heart; 
He journeys forward, and he sees 
A weary saint upon his knees. 

He soon arrives at that dread place 
Where that saint of God asks for more grace. 
He looks upon him but does not stop, 
For, to worry him he careth not. 



POETIC GEMS. 



He reaches the climax of his snares; 
He prays a while and God him hears; 
He ventures in the dreaded slough, 
And sees one beckoning on the other shore. 

He looks again, and as he stands, 
Sees palms of victory in his hands; 
Then boldly forward he moves on, 
And through faith in God is gently borne. 

He reaches safely the other side. 
Where no true strugglers are denied, 
And Christ stands ready to receive 
The one that ever on him believed. 

He's carried forward through Heaven's gate, 
Inside of which is his resting place ; 
Of this world's griefs he'll partake no more, 
Because he has passed to the other shore. 



WHAT WILL THE NEGRO EVER BE. 
The question now that comes to me. 

When cares beset and comforts flee; 

When to the right and left we look, 

And scarcely care to see a book, 

And everything makes me doubting be, 

Is, "What will the the Negro ever be.?" 

When from Afri'c's sunny land 

The Negro and the white man, hand in hand, 

Came 'cross the Atlantic, its storms to brave, 

The latter to be master, the former slave — 

If I'd been along upon the sea, 

I would have asked: ''What will the Negro ever be?" 



10 POETIC GEMS. 



When Afric's sons liad crossed the sea, 
Never more their land to see; 
When back across the waves they looked, 
And of long griefs they all partook, 
They might have asked, along with me, 
"What will the negro ever be?" 

For years of slavish servitude. 
Living in huts that were too rude. 
The Negro's question was always this: 
"Is this world the only place of bliss?" 
But the question now that comes to me 
Is, "What will the Negro ever be?" 

Since time has wrought so great a change. 
In truth, it seems to me so strange 
That every negro who is sane. 
Doesn't try to make for himself a name. 
Indeed, the question that comes to me 
Is, "What will the Negro ever be?" 

A Stetson hat, and a silk crevat 

Is what the negro wants — see that? 

'Tis not his purpose to be free 

From that horrid state, the laggard's fee. 

This is the question that comes to me: 

"What will the Negro ever be?" 

Will time all pass and still he be 

In the same old state as when set free? 

He may rise up and look about, 

But this, kind friends, I almost doubt. 

Yes, still the question comes to me — 

"What will the Negro ever be?" 



POETIC GEMS. IL 



We look about our streets and find 

The degraded negro of every kind. 

Then take a retrospective view, 

And see if this state of his is new. 

The question, kind friends, that still haunts me 

Is, "What will the Negro ever be?" 

A man may raise his children right, 
But still some imp of blackest night 
Who says all earthly things are right. 
Will strive fore'er their lives to blight. 
Right here the question comes to me: 
''What will the Negro ever he?" 

We patronize his thievish plans. 
And say, "His purpose is just grand." 
He speculates on good folks' honor, 
And tries their precious lives to squander. 
Where'er the question comes to me, 
'Tis, "What will the Negro ever be.?" 

Some Negroes walk the streets all day 
To see that others go their way. 
And what's their way? I'd like to say. 
To follow it it would not pay. 
Every hour the question thus I see: 
"What will the Negro ever be?" 

So, men of honor, you who try 

To pass no good impression by, 

Keep pressing onward, ever bold 

Until you reach the desired goal. 

For it seems that the question will always be, 

"What will the negro ever be? " 



12 POETIC GEMS. 



BE TRUE. 
A blessing to all nations are the little words 

"Be true." 
When evil thoughts come near us, 
And our consciences they tear us, 
The words which make us stand pure blue 
Are the little words, "Be true," 
A balm for sin sick mourners is the little words, 

"Be true." 
The very time we're feeling 
Like our hearts are almost yielding. 
The thing which makes us feel anew, 
Is the little words, "Be true." 

When our hearts for friends are seeking 
We can find those words, "Be true," 
We may do our best to friendship make, 
But before always our aims will quake 
Unless we constantly renew 
Those little words of cheer, "Be true." 

If we'd honestly work for God, we will mind those words 

"Be true." 
We will always be helped pure vows to keep 
If we'll always be to sin asleep; 
For if we'd ever the cross endure, 
We must hold fast to those little words, "Be true." 



THE FARMER'S FAMILY. 



The jolliest family of earth 
Is that of the happy farmer. 



POETIC GEMS. 13 



When song-birds with their songs have fled, 
And everjrthing seems to droop its head, 
The happiest thing on earth that be 
Is the jolly farmer's family. 

Nothing seems to be too droll; 
The winters never seem too cold; 
The brightest May is not too gay; 
The summer sun, from day to day, 
Never alters the onward v/ay 
Of the jolly farmer's family. 

Springtime comes with its gayest flowers; 
The farmer's family spends pleasant hours 
Upon the farm in sowing seed, 
Whose harvest will be rich indeed. 
Throughout this pleasant beauty-time 
The farmer's family life's sublime. 

Summer comes on; the ripening corn 
Makes the farmer's family from night till morn 
Dream sweetest dreams of bountiful grain, 
And the time when planting comes again. 
Each morning the family rallies with the sun. 
To see what the night's work has done. 

Next is the time the grain to gather, 

So it might escape the dreaded weather. 

The family works from morn till night. 

Storing grain so fresh and bright; 

Then homeward each member his face must turn, 

That he might receive the rest for which he yearns. 



14 POETIC GEMS. 



The harvest-time is over now; 

Each heart to God is bowed 

For his giving of his bountiful store 

Which he has for man below. 

Rest now is sweet to every one 

Who has earned such rest through rain and sun. 

Here is the time of greatest joy: 

The family has from labor ceased. 

Thoughts of pleasure in their minds arise, 

And things of beauty they have time to prize. 

The horse, the hog, the chick, the cow, 

Are the things which attract their attention now. 

The father sits in the shade 

Of a stately oak 'neath which he's played. 

This part of life he does enjoy; 

He planted that tree when but a boy. 

"Yes, life is sweet!" The old man says, 

"And I cannot see those heaps of cares." 

The mother and children get their share 

Of the sweets of life — joys without cares. 

The children go to drive the cows. 

And together they make some faithful vows 

Of their faithful love for one another, 

And their endless love for father and mother. 

The farmer's family is generally pleased; 
Its members take life with so much ease; 
It seems to me that to them life's a joy, 
And not a thing filled with alloy. 
So whom we would from cares keep free. 
We should think of the farmers family. 



POETIC GEMS. 15 



THE STRANGER'S DEATH. 

One evening as the sun went down 

A stranger lay dying. 
No hope had he this wide world round, 

He was on God relying; 
For when he had in sorrow knelt, 

'Twas only God's kind hand he felt. 
There was a crowd that round his bed, 

A crowd that stood afar. 
And every one that chanced to tread 

Along the way where shown that star 
Would surely new, rich life receive, 

Because he'd then on God believe. 
The stranger had wandered from home afar; 

Had many hardships on the way; 
But never once before a hearth 

Had he the chance to God to pray. 
"Whenever sorrow donned his brow. 

He'd pray: ''Dear Jesus, help just now!" 
Tho' along through life he went. 

Wretched, poor, despised, forsaken, 
He never once had cause to repent 

Of the stand for Christ he'd taken; 
For when he found himself in need 

He'd trust in God and be relieved. 
The stranger nears at last his end; 

Sickness has seized his weakened frame; 
Angels from heaven would descend 

To aid the one who called His name. 
Through grief and joy, through pain and pleasure, 

So eternal rest would be his measure. 



16 POETIC GEMS. 



The stranger looks around his bed; 

He finds himself forsaken; 
He then beholds above his head 

The forms of angels who had taken 
Their stand to guard God's holy one 

Ere from this world he's taken. 

He says, "Dear angels, have you come 
To take me home beyond the skies? 

I've lingered long in my earthly home. 
And now shall go with you on high, 

Where all true children of the King 
May go and help you his praises sing!" 

The crowd that stood around his bed 

Had power to utter not a word; 
But standing there with lowered heads, 

His communion sweet with angels heard. 
"Farewell, vile world!" the stranger said, 

"I'm with you no more, but with the dead!" 

The men and women, the boys and girls, 
Who stood beside this dying saint. 

Began to think of how it was 

That the dying man made no complaint. 

One said at last: "To him 'twas given 

To think much more of things of Heaven." 

''I'll ask of you just one request; 

And it is this, my noble friends : 
When mirth and sorrow, joy and pain 

Along your pathway themselves do wend, 
If you would gain the sweetest rest, 

Never forget the stranger's death:**^ 



POETIC GEMS. 



DEMONS OF THE NIGHT. 

I sit me here not thinking I will rest; 

For every night twixt twelve and one I am beset by demons. 

Demons! I hear them now as it were their legion 

Advancing, yea, to take me to their region! 

You come, aye, the same as you've before 

To drag me into regions there below! 

But, grand friends, I'll not depart 

Till Christ shall take possession of my heart. 

Have you need of a man like me? 

Do you think me insane to be? 

Rather think you'r quite mistaken, 

And will say I'll not be taken 

By a crowd or haughty demons as you are! 

Ha, ha! children of the K-i-n-g! 

I've heard of the King of which you speak, 

And have tried for these past weeks 

To rid me of your monstrous demons, 

But it seems as though 'twere doomed men 

Trying to rid themselves of what they call predestined fate. 

Go, demons, go! ^ 

Why do you worry so the one who»< nature chooses 

To be keeper of her door? 

Nay, not me to be your partner he did choose; 

You dream, or else you're fooling. 

Now, go! 

Well, upon my honor, I am free once more 

From those haughty demons ne'er before. 

Demons are cruel things to men 

Who of their substance never care to lend. 

I've sat here fifteen days or more, 



IS POETIC GEMS. 



Daring not once to look too long upon the floor. 

God, hast thou forgotten me, 

How I've loved to call on thee! 

Hear me, thou who wouldst not lie 

To a mortal such as I. 

Those demons of the night! ah, think! 

How they've kept me day and night 

From the things I thought were right! 

Serving God, that were my pleasure; 

And I thought that at their leisure 

I'd invest a greater measure; 

But those hellish fiends of night 

Tried my very hopes to blight! 

Though they always come at night, 

They care nothing for the light. 

The more I try to call his name 

Those hellish fiends are just the same. 

But they're demons of the night; 

And in all they think they're right. 

Father, Heavenly Father, grant 

Me pardon from those fiendish haunts. 

Back again! Back again! 

Demons, why have you decided 

That my life should be thus blighted? 

Have you none else on which to wait 

Why you've caused me this sad fate? 

Go, demons, go 

To your cells below. 

And cease your wanderings to and fro; 

Or some other quarters you must find, 

And your plagueing mischief to some 



Other creature bind! 



POETIC GEMS. 19 



Demons, are you anxious what shall be 
The late or early fate of me? 
So it seems, and every hour 
I'll disarm you of your power. 
Clinching harder are you? Say, 
Why is it you so close to me entwine, 
And wont go some one else to find? 
Go! ! Now I'm free. 
You cursed demons, 'twere only me 
Your souls could feed on without fee. 
Go your way for weal or woe! 
Go, you cursed demons! go! ! 



THAT NEGRO BALL. 

Of all the amusements I've ever attended. 

When ignorance and boistrousness together were blended, 

And sports of all kinds together mixed 

In order to have it exactly fixed, 

The most amusing was at a public hall 

Where I stopped in to witness ''That Negro Ball." 

Those negroes were dressed in all kinds of colors : 

They had canes and fans and silk umbrellas; 

But the thing that attracted my attention most 

Was a negro yelling, ''All to your posts!" 

The incident I will relate to you all. 

Is concerning what happened at "That Negro Ball." 

When the caller had made his farewell yell, 

And each sport had come to the side of his belle, 

Then was the time the fun began, 

When all went round with hand in hand 

In order to get the motion fine; 



20 POETIC GEMS. 



For 'tis true they wanted to dance on time. 

"Now partners together!" the caller said, 

With a wink of his eye and a nod of his head. 

"Now what did I say for you all to do?" 

Asked the caller of his jolly crew. 

They all obeyed his orders then; 

For one of them said, "Boys ack lack men." 

"Balance!" was his next request; 

For he seemed always to like that best. 

Then straightway his orders were obeyed; 

OfiE they went, but never stayed. 

They tried the caller not to vex, 

For they were quick to their places to see what was next. 

"Once again, and bow your heads!" 

Was another thing the caller said. 

"Now, swing yer partners round and round; 

I'm glad yer niggers aint on de ground." 

This is what he said that time, 

When he was getting his job down fine. 

By that time they all were waiting. 

And of course were meditating; 

When all at Once the caller yelled: 

"Once more each sport swing his own little belle 1" 

They swinged their partners more and more. 

And, my, they seemed to enjoy it so! 

"Promenade!" said the boss of that jolly crew; 

Now, here's where the thing got in a stew. 

The most enlightened ones of all 

Said, "Look er heah, you made a miscall." 

The caller did not seem to mind, 

And simply said, "Jes dance to time." 



POETIC GEMS. 21 



You should suppose they were badly mixed, 

Since the caller had gotten them in such a fix. 

This awful balk he tried to straighten, 

But to see him you would till now have been waiting; 

For the more he'd yell the breach to mend, 

The more disorder to it he'd lend. 

Now, Susan Brown was in the hall. 

And she was said to be the belle of the ball. 

She asked her partner for an excuse 

To go 'cross the hall the caller to abuse. 

The caller became tired of her satire, 

And said to her, "You are a liar!" 

Then across that way her partner walked; 

And he and the caller began to talk and talk, 

When all at once the crowd came round 

And yelled. my, such an awful sound! _^ 

The fat, the lean, the low, the tall 

Were mad that night at ''That Negro Ball." 

The quarrel grew to such a pitch. 

Till finally there was a hitch. 

The caller was getting the worst of it, 

When suddenly he said, ''Les quit!" 

The conquering contestant let him go; 

And when he got up, he made for the door. 

It was at this time the ball was stopped, 

When sudden there appeared three city cops. 

The inmates began to disappear. 

And in a moment no one was there. 

The cops they searched the hall up and down, 

But no trace of a Negro could be found. 



22 POETIC GEMS. 



While the cops were at the upper end, 
I saw that my time to escape was then. 
In a moment I was on the street, 
Dodging all I was about to meet. 
Since then I go to nothing at all 
Whenever I think of "That Negro Ball.' 



THE LOST SHIP. 



The stately ship at anchor lay 
In the harbor night and morn. 
Her jolly crew seems ever true 
In whatever they are bade to do. 
Her captain bold has been of old. 
The supposed rescurer of many a soul. 
Now, soon, this hearty group of men 
Some weary journey must begin. 

The hour comes for her to sail; 

"All aboard!" is sounded by her captain hale; 

The passengers from right and left 

Are hurrying forward, some, seemingly bereft. 

Soon after they leave the busy wharf. 

She straightway begins to move them off, 

Not to have them lost at sea. 

But that they soon on other shores may be. 

She sails away across the sea 

As if she was from burden free. 

Finally, she has gone so far 

That none can see who the passengers are. 



POETIC GEMS. 23 



The next look and her hull is hid 
From the gaze of those who never did 
Want to see her stately form 
Go away to be gone so long. 

Next, her whole form is lost from sight; 

And in a moment, though 'tis light, 

To some of those who walk the wharf, 

It seems to be night since the ship went ofiE. 

Some of them had sons aboard; 

And husbands of some made a part of the load, 

Daughters and wives were in the midst of those 

Who were to experience unexpected woes. 

The first night finds the ship at sea 

With her crew as jolly as one could be; 

The passengers they seem jolly too. 

Since the ship's passage thus far has been so true. 

The time has come for all to rest. 

And the least weary one can at his best 

Scarcely help a nod of the head. 

Because it is time to be in bed. 

In a few moments all is still. 

The bravest one yields to nature's will. 

One slumbers and dreams that all at home 

Seem restless and all alone; 

And one dreams of mother so far away. 

And sees himself ever quick to obey. 

Another has visions of Fairy-land, 

Where everything seems to him so grand. 

Their dreams are.broken by shrilling cries 

Which notify them they must arise. 



24 POETIC GEMS. 



On arising they quickly come outside 

Only to see themselves denied 

Of all earthly aid on which to lean; 

For they cannot be rescued from the scene. 

They hurriedly wander up and down, 

But no relief is to be found. 

''The ship's on fire?" one voice cries. 
He braves the waters that way to die. 
Another voice is heard to exclaim, 
"Alas, poor man, his hopes are vain!" 
''Is there no aid to come to me 
Away out here upon the sea?" 
This is what another said 
With his hands above his head. 

The captain and his busy crew. 

Seem never lacking one thing to do 

For the good of those who to their care 

Have trusted to them their lives so dear. 

The captain hurries to the lower deck; 

But in a moment he is back. 

The ship's speed is being taxed more and more 

So she may reach the other shore. 

The signal is sent across the waves. 
No vessels is near those lives to save. 
The signal is sounded once again ; 
And a counter signal is awaited in vain. 
"Let down the life boats!" the captain said 
When he had seen that their last hope had fled. 
In a moment the life boats were lowered 
And all the passengers were aboard. 



POETIC OEMS. 25 

As soon as they left the burning ship, 
The angry waves began to whip 
Their little boats from right to left 
In a way that made them feel more bereft. 
They are beat about from side to side; 
And their little boats would try to ride 
The angry waves which seem to say, 
^^You are mine and me you must obey." 

The great ship by this time has gone 

To depths which were before unknown; 

And sadness fiUs the hearts of all 

Who soon must claim the waters as their pall. 

A prayer is heard upon the deep: 

*'0, God, my soul in safety keep 

Since the angry ocean I must brave. 

And my body be buried beneath its waves.'' 

'^Help! Help!! Help!!! is heard; 
And in a moment not a word. 
The last soul sinks beneath the wave. 
After striving in vain his life to save. 
The captain, passengers, and crew, 
To this sad world have bade adieu; 
And never shall in sorrow dwell 
In this vile world, but with the dead. 

The ship is waited for in vain; 
The heart of mother is in pain; 
And everyone who hears of those 
Who on the overdue ship did go, 
Are wondering why the ship tarries so 
As never it had done before. 



23 POETIC GEMS. 



But they fail to know what has been the cause 
Of such an unexpected pause. 

The ship that started out to sea, 

"When the waters were as calm as they could be, 

Has met an unexpected fate, 

Which makes a ship forever late. 

The souls of those who began the travel 

Are seated, 'tis hoped, with God in heaven. 

But the ship, that by the waves were tossed. 

From human view is forever lost. 



A TALK WITH DUTY, 

Duty, thou art serene: 

Thou art of earth's first blessings; 
And more than all, I ween. 

Thou art caressing. 
From time immemorable by man, 

Thy works were wending 
Their way to this fair land 

Toward which man was tending. 
Thou seem'st to be a bound 

For men who seek for praise, 
If they will think of thee, 

And take thee in all their ways. 
Thou art pure beyond compare; 

Thou art enticing. 
When glory 'round thee shines, 

Thou art so bright 
That thou canst set aside 



POETIC GEMS. 37 



The blackest night. 
When pleasure comes around us, 

And we forget 
Thou shed'st thy light about us 

And we regret 
That thou wast left behind, 

Out in the weather. 
And we, earth's sons, with pleasure blind, 

Walked off together. 
Duty, I praise thee more. 

Thy tread so soft, 
Has touched my tender heart. 

And now I'm off 
With thee where'er thou tread' st 

Through pastures green. 
And fi'ry trials dread. 

Where'er thou'rt seen. 
Duty, where dost thou dwell. 

When man «MWi cares not to part 
From thee he loves so well? 

Within man's heart? 
O, now, I've found the place 

Of thy sweet rest: 
'Tis in the life of man; 

'Tis in his breast. 
I want thee, gracious friend, 

Throughout man's life. 
To have him understand 

The glory bright 
Which comes from thee to us 

Where'er we wander. 



28 FOETIC GEMS. 



Or are hid beneath the dust- 
Be it here or yonder? 

Pursue thine onward way — 
Thy purpose grand — 

Till thoU;. some happy day. 
In heaven us land. 



OUR SUNLAND. 

Artificial beauty is desired first of all 
By some of God's own creatures 

Who through Adam had the fall; 

And 'tis strange to say, though true it is. 

It is some folks daily talk — 

At home, at church, upon tJie streets. 

Wherever they may walk. 

The things which nature has designed • 

That we should love and praise. 
Are found in our sunland fair, 

And it makes us stand amazed 
To see spring come with breezes fresh, 

And all its beauties rare, 
That we may bathe in nature's breath, 

And quiet every care. 

If youth itself would truly know. 

And pure affections gain 
For lovely breezes that blow 

On nature unprofane, 
It must hurry on without delay. 

And join our happy band 



POETIC GEMS. 



Of nature's hardy sons who pay 

Tribute to our sunland. 
The broad Atlantic before her stands; 

Her back's the Mississippi; 
On the Gulf of Mexico her lands 

Have stood for centuries, 
Although, to those who visit them 

They seem as fresh today, 
As when by nature they were planned 

To be of lands most gay. 

Our lovely, fair, sunland, you see. 

Is nature's stamping ground; 
The prettiest thing which nature weaves 

Can everywhere be found; 
And to pluck its perfumed beauties 

Is to mankind quite a pleasure; 
Because to all it is a duty 

To prize earth's lovely treasure. 

There are shrubs and other herbage bright; 

There are animals minute; 
There are bees and birdies that unite 

To join the glad pursuit 
Of riches which for them were formed, 

So that they might through sunshine days 
Go happily till night from morn, 

In their humble, blitheful ways. 
To them whom nature entertains 

From morning until night. 
With lovely songs whose peaceful strains 

Come from the birdies blithe; 



30 POETIC GEMS. 



And the busy life of toiling ants, 
That work where'er they may, 

There is a bliss in our sunland. 
That from most lands is kept away. 

There are rills and rivers, vales and hills; 

There are lakes with fishes teeming. 
And if we'll go as nature vnlls, 

Although the sun be beaming. 
And mingle with her precious gifts 

From early morn 'til night, 
We'll find that we're in pleasure rich; 

And that cares have taken flight. 

In summing up the pleasures bright, 

Which o'er our sunland shine, 
We should not fail to bring to light 

This fact which is divine — 
That whether it be night or day, 

At labor or at rest. 
Of all the lands where mortals stay. 

Our sunland is the best. 



YOU'RE A SLAVE. 

If you do not your own thinking, 

You're a slave; 
If fwi at ignorance spring you'r drinking, 

You're a slave; 
For if your brain is not your own, 
And in folly you have grown. 



POETIC GEMS. 31 



Men will know by what you've sown, 
That you're a slave. 

If in idleness you grope, 

You're a slave; 
If in life you have no hope, 

You're a slave; 
And if you to man have given 
No aid, but have only striven 
To have his life by weakness riven, 

You're a slave 

If to life you add no beauty, 

You're a slave; 
If to you life is not duty, 

You're a slave; 
For if for God you nothing do, 
And in purpose you're not pure, 
Remember you are untrue. 

So you're a slave. 

If true virtues you do not possess. 

You're a slave; 
And if with time you keep not abreast, 

You're a slave. 
If in a dormant state you lie. 
And you heed not nature's cry, 
Which says, "Get up or else you'll die!' 

You're a slave. 

See nature's stalwart sons, 
They are not slaves. 



32 POETIC GEMS. 



They who after duty run, 

Are not slaves; 
But if you a lifetime spend, 
And do no good to other men, 
Remember if you die then, 

You'll be a slave. 



GET CHARITY. 



Among life's purest treasures, 
"Which guide our useful lives, 

Is one that's without measure, 
For which we all should strive. 

At noon, at night, at early morn, 
We should work to gain that prize; 

For 'twill help the people yet unborn. 
If we'd weave it in our lives. 

The generations yet to come. 
In whatever clime they be. 

Will want to know of noble deeds 
Which were done by you and me. 

So let our lives be what they should; 

And from hate of right kept free; 
And let us to mankind be good, 

By getting charity. 



POKTIC GEMS. 83 



TRUE BEAUTY. 

We should treat our brother right. 

That is beauty. 
We should labor with all our might, 
And wrong deeds the harder fight 
That our lives may always be bright. 

That is beauty. 

We should never do a wrong. 

That is beauty. 
Let our lives be full of song, 
And the joyful song prolong, 
That we may others help along. 

That is beauty. 

Let us wipe each others tears. 

That is beauty. 
We should pleasant faces wear. 
And our burdens bravely bear; 
Such will give to others cheer. 

That is beauty. 

We should no good deed abuse. 

That is beauty. 
We should ever speak the truth. 
And learn while in our youth 
The way to eternal use. 

That is beauty. 

We should strive for God to live. 
That is beauty. 



34 POETIC GEMS, 

We should to him service give, 
And as long as man shall live, 
Teach him to on God believe. 
That is beauty. 



% 



MUSIC. 

O, music, 
Thou comest in varied forms. 
It is not thine to linger in one state; — 
Thou changest so. 
If thou wert still more simple. 
It would not be 

So hard for man to understand 
Thy every key. 
Thou comest plain awhile, 
Then once or twice complex; 
Thou, to ignorant man. 
Art simply marvelous. 
He hears thee ; 

Still, at all times, fail to recognize 
Thy changing form. 
It is not thine to have a single state; — 
Thou art many fold. 
Thou, as time itself. 
Art just as old. 

When the stars of morning together sang, 
Thou wast there as soothing 
As thou at present art. 
Divinity claims thee as her own ; 



POETIC GEMS. 35 



And nature, in every wind that blows, 
Utters some of thy sweet strains. 
The rustling of the leaves 
Makes music sweet. 
Which utters words like these: — 
'Our God we greet." 
Music, why changest thou? 
Thy form is not deceiving, 
But thy clothing it is so changing, 
That unless one is quite watchful. 
Thou wilt come to him and go 
Ere he does thy person know. 
Thou wilt come to man in form of smiles, 
And if he'll harken to their signs, 
He will hear the sweetest notes — 
Notes that stay with him awhile. 
I hear thy notes in that sweet voice 
Which calls to me in whisper low, 
From lips of youth 
And lips of age, 
And utters words of truth. 
Music, I see thee still 
In every sound and act; 
And when in time I cease 
To hear thy strains sublime, 
I will, I hope, be where thy notes 
Can cheer my happy soul. 
As long as God in heaven reigns. 
And eternal ages roll. 



POETIC GEMS. 



THAT BLOOD DIVINE 

It makes me pure indeed — 

That blood divine. 
It touched my tender soul, 

And how it binds 
My life to that of Christ, 

God's holy Son; 
And how I love the life 

That I've begun. 

It took my sins away — 

That blood divine; 
My soul with rapture thrills, 

And my whole frame 
Has caught on hallowed fire; — 

So God I praise, 
Assisted by angel lyres. 

Throughout my days. 

It saves me evermore — 

That blood divine. 
Now, Lord, thy love I know, 

And I am thine. 
That blood divine can heal 

The sickest of sin-sick souls; 
With it I bathed, and daily feel 

That I am whole. 

You need not see by sight 

That blood divine. 
Just let it to thy guilty soul 

Be now applied. 



POETIC GEMS. 87 



'Twill save thee evermore, 

And then its power 
Will make thee happy be, 

Hour by hour. 

When time shall sink apace. 

And life must change, 
And man from every race 

His portion claim, 
'Tis there we'll need a stay 

Our hopes to bind; — 
'Twill be that guide by day — • 

That love divine. 



DISLOYALTY. 

You follow man where' re he goes; 
You always try to fill his life with woes. 
You are a villain. 

And have you thought of how you go 
From day to day this wide world o'er 
To deceive earth's millions.'' 

Your path can everywhere be found; 
Your destructive powers do abound. 
You are tempestuous. 
Do you not think of the harm you do 
To every one who thinks you true. 
When you behold your vestige? 
You seek the choicest spot of man; 
I know you by your reddened brand, 



POETIC GEMS. 



You are a thief. 

You have captured many a heart; 

And from your very start, 
You've caused much grief. 

You are to mankind such a bore 
That he cares not when you go 
From him away. 
If you could from sin refrain, 
You would not give to others pain 
From day to day. 

Why not cease your onward way? 

Cease your strivings to betray 

Man's liberty? 

There will later come a day 

When you will be swept away, 

Disloyalty. 



MAN. 
Thou wast created first of all; 
Last, but not least. 
Within thee dwells a spring of life — 
It is the soul. 

Deprived of this dear treasurer, 
Thou wouldst be of beings most depraved; 
And if thy glory — 
Woman, as it be — 
Were sent from thee. 
Thou still wouldst be depraved; — 
Though with dim hope. 



POETIC GEMS. 



I fancy thee a being most divine; 

And if thyself were wholly thine, 

In life as well as death, 

There'd be no hope. 

For, remembering how thy form in darkness 

groped, — 
Before divine light to thee was brought, 
I see thee, possessed with thine own life, 
Among His creatures most deprived. 
I see thee more. 

E'en at the dawn of this all-glorious age, 
I find thee hard to understand. 
That through His gracious coming, 
Though late it seemed 
To those who for Him watched 
And waited long, 
Thou wast at such a time 
Of beings richly adorned. 
Man of this world. 
Thy mechanism most sublime 
Has been for ages past 
The deepest study for man's mind. 
Thou'rt strong. 
But still thou'rt weak, 
Earth's proudest treasure, 
Because thine aught-be-sacred form 
Is not thine own 
I feel thee, man, 
And if the truth were told, 
Thou art an iceberg; — 
Thou art so cold. 



40 . POETIC GKMS. 



Thou art in this state 

As regards thy relation to thy maker; 

But to thyself, 

Thou art of earth the king, 

Since other creatures 

Their power to thee do bring. 

If thou art so grand, 

Where hast thou built thy home? 

And why has thou, in this vile world, 

The slightest cause to roam? 

O, now, I know! 

There's promised thee a home 

If thou wilt only serve 

The supreme God alone. 

Man, thine own estate in life 

Is poor beyond compare; 

Thou art only rich 

As he enriches thee. 

O, wretched state of man! 

How canst thou rest? 

Why dost thou wait? 

Canst thou understand 

The mystery of this life? 

I wait for a reply. 

I hear it faint — 

"I try." 

If vanity thou wouldst let go. 

And a purer prize passes. 

Thou would' St not be so hard to understand 

The mystery of this life of man, 

I see man now 



POETIC GEMS. 41 



As all mankind can see, 

As beautiful as artificial work would have him be. 

Still an ugly thing he is 

Since nature's mechanism has been ignored. 

As the rose is imitated, 

So is real man. 

The purity with which he was possessed. 

And that model frame, 

Have been deceived by vanity, 

And the awful pain 

With which they both were seized, 

Has caused thee vain man. 

To live, yea, without peace. 

Thou hast delved in science long, 

And thy scientific song 

Has only learned this song: 

"The whole course of man is wrong." 

Man, thou art not all thou seemest. 

Thou art so small. 

And more than all of this, 

I unedrstand 

That when thou first wast made. 

Thou wast so grand. 

Man, thou has fallen far; 

For when I saw the first. 

Thou wast so high. 

That angels walked with thee 

The waters by, 

Now, thou art low; 

But thou canst truly say 

That this State of thine 



42 POETIC GEMS. 

Can soon be driven away. 

Get up, vain man, 

And shake from off thy form 

The dust that on thee be, 

And regain thy former height, 

And thy sweet liberty. 

Now, think within thyself, 

And understand. 

That of all God's creatures, 

Thou art man. 



OUR WORLD. 



There is quite a fascinating picture 

Presented by our world. 

The mysteries deep 

Which linger yet unsolved. 

Have astonished not only man of yore. 

But man living in this hour. 

The various forms of nature unprofane, 

Have made this world of ours. 

Not a picture presenting to our minds 

Sights altogether opposing the divine. 

But everything that it shows forth 

Is beyond all skill of man — sublime. 

The thing which makes this world of ours so very grand, 

Is the touch which nature gave it with its hand. 

When nature first began its work, 

The picture grand 

Which is now presented by our world, 



POETIC GEMS. 43 



Would have made us in our nature 

Feel so droll, 

That if then our thoughts were told, 

They would have shown forth much surprise. 

Man was not there; 

So nature, with his weakness, 

Had not to bear. 

Our world presents a picture bleak 

In some parts; 

In others one of heat; 

And each picture has its own significant retreat. 

Upon the face of this world so grand. 

There is man. 

His form is very hard to understand. 

We can take the trees and flowers, 

And compare their lives with ours. 

But we cannot by a deal of study know 

Why the plans of nature made 

So much difference in their form 

As they do show. 

We can come to this conclusion: 

This grand world beyond illusion 

Was planned for man. 

So if we strive to form 

What we call "a taste for beauty," 

We can find the path to duty 

In our world. 



44 POETIC GEMS. 



JOY. 

Joy is sweet to every man 

When it touches right the heart. 
There's not one soul in all this land 

That will have it to depart. 

When joy takes the highest seat 

In the heart of man, 
0, its ruling is so sweet! 

Nothing is more grand. 

If you'll let it take control, 

And its blessings bring, 
You'll feel as grand as any soul — 

Be he priest or king. 

If you have in time a neighbor 
With a life filled with alloys, 

Think it not too great a favor 
To fill his heart with joy. 



DAY IS DYING. 



Day is dying. 

Time is flying. 

Lo! the sun, my friend, goes down! 

Have you toiled through rain and sun, 

To obtain a crown.? 

Day is dying. 

Time is flying. 

Did you start your task 



POETIC GEMS. 



f-^ 



In the morning of your life? 
Did you His favor ask? 

Day is dying. 

Time is flying. 

Rise, my friend! Turn toward the west! 

Have you made the most of life? 

Have you done your best? 

Day is dying. 

Time is flying. 

Do you see the sun descending? 

Have you labored here for God? 

Are you on him for help depending? 

Day is dying. 

Time is flying. 

You must up and do your part 

On this battle field of life. 

Up, now, make your start. 

Day is dead ; 

Time has fled; 

And your race is run. 

Now you've lived your whole life through, 

And have nothing none. 



OUT ON LIFE'S SEA. 

We are all out on life's sea. 

Ourselves our little barks are steering; 
And if God our chart and compass be, 

What need have we for fearing? 



46 POETIC GEMS. 



God as our captain we must take; 

And we his orders must obey; 
For if we the proper course will take, 

We'll land in heaven some sweet day. 

Lets steer straight forward o'er this sea. 

To vary would be sinning 
If o£E the way we always be, 

We endanger those beginning. 

We'll meet with storms upon our way; 

Dark clouds will gather thick and fast; 
They'll threaten our fond hopes to dismay; 

But if we'll wait they'll soon be past. 

Boistrous waves will try to drive 

Our little barks from o£E their course; 

But let our captain always find 
Us, faithful steerer, at our posts. 

We cannot always tell the time 

When storms along our path will rise; 

But this, my friends, you always mind — 
Be sure and watch the sunshine skies. 

Remember where you are, my friends, 
Where'er on earth you chance to be, 

Steer well, for you are sailing then 
Away out on life's sea. 



WHAT THE RILL SAYS. 

I'm happy when I'm running 
Along the pleasant valley; 



POETJC GEM3. 47 



And in my way so cunning 

O'er rugged places rush with a rally. 

There's not a day in all ray years, 
E'en though the weather be cold, 

When I worry over cares. 
Or things seem to me droll. 

The hottest day is not too hot; 

The coldest not too cold; 
From autumn weather I shrink not; 

Because 'tis the time of gold. 

Now, as for spring, I here can say, 
That we have long been friends. 

I have watered its beauties day by day; 
Thus to them joy I'd lend. 

The little children by me play 
While on their way to school. 

They like me very well, they say, 
Because I am so cool. 

They say I am so fuUof fun; 

And that I seem so pleasant. 
They say I'm the same to every one — 

To king the same as peasant. 

I've nothing else to do each day, 

But strive to do my duty. 
So all along my busy way, 

I try to lend some beauty. 



'% 



POETIC GEMS. 



If all mankind would pattern take 
From me who seems so simple, 

"When nature smiled, they'd always make 
On her cheek the prettiest dimple. 



THE JOY OF HOME, 

Home has ever had its joys; 

It has also had alloys ; 

When afar we've caused to roam, 

'Tis then we think of the joy of home. 

Some say the joy of home is daughter; 

Others agree and say they ought to. 

But I'm impressed with another thought— 

That with her the home would not be what it ought. 

Say some, the loving son's the joy; 

He makes joys brighter — the loving boy. 

To my thought, the joy of home. 

To the best thinking people is not yet shown. 

When grief and want make their appearance, 
The daughter, the son are still in obeyance ; 
Still further then we make our search 
In want of joy upon which to preach. 

Among the many joys of life. 

We search and find the loving wife; 

And then we're at rest, and cease to roam, 

Because we have found the joy of home. 



POETIC GEMS. 



U 



YOU ANSWERED HIMs "I WILL," 
Have you yet, dear friends, forgotten, 

Is it in your memory still — 
That day on which you answered 

In tender words, "I will?" 
Do those words keep you moving 

As the water-wheel the mill? 
Are they still a guide post proving — 

Those little words, ''I will?" 
And when temptations round you gather, 

And great mountains round you build. 
Do you obey them rather 

Than those little words, "I will?" 
How simple and how binding! 

How they our lives with good things fill. 
If we'll keep ourselves reminding 

Of those little words, "I wiU?" 
Have you yet forgotten the parson 

Who before you, stood quite still, 
While he waited for your answer 

In those little words, "I will?" 

Try at all times to remember, 

If affections you would build, 
That day on which you answered 

The parson with, 'I will." 
Now wives and husbands keep your word, 

And do not your honor kill ; 
For when the pardon's voice you heard, 

You answered him: "I will." 



50 POETIC GEMS. 



"MIND, NOW, JOE." 

I saw a little maid one day 
While passing by a certain way, 
Who all the while kept saying 
To one who was not her obeying, 
**Mind, now, Joe." 

I looked, and listened to her words. 
And tried to fathom what I heard; 
But all that I could then un(ierstand. 
While I saw them stand with hand in hand, 
Was, "Mind, now Joe." 

I saw, while motionless each stood. 
Looking at each as lovers would. 
That Joe was trying her to kiss, 
While she was only saying this: 
"Mind, now, Joe." 

Of course they knew not that I stood 
So near them; for I think they would 
Have moved away from that haunted place 
Where the maiden said with so much grace: 
"Mind, now, Joe." 

They did not know that I stood near 

Unto the spot their words to hear; 

So still they stood with hand in hand — 

The maiden with these words at her command; 

"Mind, now, Joe." 

At last I heard the lad's soft voice: 

"Of course, now, you may take your choice. 



POETIC GEMS. 51 



Either give me one sweet kiss, 

Or let us part." But she'd say but this; 

"Mind, now, Joe." 

At last he kissed her on her cheek, 
And afterward these words did speak: 
"Now what is it to have one kiss?" 
But what she said was only this : 
"Mind, now, Joe." 




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